His Beautiful Mind
by The Butterfly Net
Summary: I'm not good at writing summaries. This is about Bulma, a house cleaner, and her new client. Vegeta, of course, is her new client. He has many strange perks, and a hazy past. Bulma unravels his secrets, blah blah blah. It's a BulmaVegeta get together...
1. Chapter 1

**His Beautiful Mind - _Chapter_ _One_**

**By: _The Butterfly Net_**

**- - -**

The cracks in the glass formed a spider web effect before bursting into tiny shards that rained down. They glisten through the sun light filtering through the window, and they settled on the newly waxed tile floor. Crimson streams veined a clenched fist. An alarm was sounded. The buzzer sounded far off as the owner of the clenched fist frowned at the broken window. His dark orbs had a vacant, glazed look to them, and a dribble of blood traveled down his right cheek. The man stared out the window at the cerulean sky. The air was thick, heavy, weighing with thoughts, until the cool Autumn breeze reached the chiseled, unbreakable facade which the man held preciously, knocking hanging shards of glass down to the tiled floor littered with shimmering crystals. The man went unalarmed by the panicked yells from the attendants trying to open the jammed door. A white dresser had been pushed infront of said door. White wisp clouds floated carelessly though the clear blue sky. The black pools, hazed with cataract like emptiness, watched. A crow flew past the window suddenly omitting it's call of anxiety, and the attendants began pleading for the man to allow them entrance. Their voices didn't reach his ears as the man's lips curled into a small smile of relief.

- - -

_Where's she going? _She's carrying her brown leather purse and is zipping a light spring jacket.The sounds of her shoes shuffling across the hard wood flooring resound through my perked ears. The warmth of her lips against my cheek, then she speaks. "I'm going out to the store. Would you like anything while I'm out, baby?"

She's lying. I heard her crying again last night. She isn't coming back. I don't move. I stay seated on the floor. The block griped between my fingers is digging into my palm, I clench my teeth to keep the whelling tears at bay, and shake my head _no_. She smiles at me and runs her fingers through my matted hair before turning and walking towards the front door. I hear her hand twist the knob and walk outside, she smiles at me again before shutting the door. As I hear her turn the key to lock the door I want to stand and run after her. I want to scream as loud as my lungs will allow, and ask if it's my fault, and how I could change? The tears are pushing against my lids, and I tightly squeeze them shut. I have to be unbreakable. I can't cry. I'm an unbreakable force, that will not cry over such trivial things: like your mother leaving you. Even _if _I were to stand and jolt out of the house, running as fast as my short legs will carry me, it wouldn't make a slight difference. She'll say I'm having one of my fits again, she'll walk me back inside, and ask me if I remembered taking my medicine this morning. I watch as a glare is casted over the doors to the fire place, signaling her car has been pulled out onto the street. This was the day I was orphaned and left alone in my house for three days. My mother had left me, and my father had passed away years ago. I was alone.

My uncle came by, like he did every Friday evening. That was when I was found. He took me to his cramped home and called the cops to search for my mother. I was eight years old. They never found my mother. My uncle ended up with the _pleasure_ of raising me.

**- - -**

_"Some simple tips. Don't make eye contact. If he comes into a room you're cleaning, slowly clean yourself out of that room. If he's talking but doesn't say your name, don't answer or ask what's wrong. He sends checks through mail, so don't expect him to pay you in person, or when you're done cleaning. Umm, I think that's it. Oh wait, one more thing. This is very important. Whatever you do, do not touch his books. Clean around them._" I replayed my friends warnings through my head as I parked my car in front of a large home. I have a new client today. My friend, Chi Chi, cleaned this guys' house before, but she had to quit when she moved last week. So, she recommended me to take her place. Not only did she warn me of his strange perks, I guess this guy is supposedly _completely_ off his rocker.

As I approach the front door I reach my hand forward to ring the bell, no sooner does the door whip open and a man, standing at about 5'9, with his hair shaped in an ebony flame, stands before me. He gives me a stone cold look. I smile back nervously and a bit out of habit.

"Are you the new girl?" He demands this from me, anger spicing his tone.

I smile politely and nod. "Yes, my name's Bulma Briefs, nice to meet you Mr. Ouiji." I extend my hand, and wear a phony smile. I was always told first impressions were everything. _Be kind, courteous, and always keep on a smile, even if you have to paint one on._ My mother would tell me before every interview, be it a baby sitting position, school transfer, job interview.

He quickly studies me, then moves aside so I may enter. The house is a beautiful colonial. There is a large marble stairwell at the end of the foyer, and I can see some what into the living room. There are large leather sofas, a grand piano, a huge fire place, and I can see half of, what looks like, a bookcase. _Books_. Chi had really stressed the fact that I wasn't to touch any of his books. She told me, when she first started, that it smelled old, musty, and there were books everywhere. Laying on random tables, piled on the floor, sofa, stairs, chairs.

"Now if you're done gawking, I'll give you a tour." His voice was very deep and raspy. He walked in front of me, and into the living room. "Sitting room: dust, and vacuum." He then turned into the kitchen, "Kitchen: sweep, mop, dust, wipe, you get the point?" He asked rhetorically as he glanced down the hallway before turning towards me. His brows narrowed, facial features hardened into that frown he can't seem to shake.

I nodded. What an ass hole. I _know_ how to clean, it just so happens to be my _job_. I quickly look over the kitchen before returning my focus back to my_ joyous_ client. The kitchen is drab. Black, brown, white seem to be the only colors adorning walls, cabinets, appliances, and floor. I can already spot a few places that could use some scrubbing, particularly the floor underneath the chair at the head of the table. Guessing that's where he likes to sit for his meals. I make a mental note of that, and the strange looking papers covering the refrigerator. There's one very fun perk about being a house cleaner: you get to snoop, look through drawers, closets, etc., without looking suspicious or nosy.

"Clean all the rooms in the house except for my study and master bedroom." He barks, narrowing my focus.

I nodded again, and watched as his eyes traveled down the hallway for a second time, then turned their focus back to me.

He began to speak quickly. "I send checks in the mail on Friday mornings, any questions?"

"Well I was wondering where the broom closet was." I said, unsure if I should have asked by the way his features slacked into a frown. He glanced back down the hallway for a third time before he raised his hand slowly, pointing towards a thin closet door at the beginning of the hallway entering the kitchen. I nodded, "Thanks." His arm then slumped back to his side.

His eyes studied me once more, "Anything _else_?" The way he spoke seemed to be a warning not to press any further into details, _or else_. Else what? I'm not sure, maybe he's a maniac killer and will chop me up into pieces and feed me to his secret pack of pigs he keeps in a barn that he'll never tell me about. No, that was story I made up about my last client, who was middle aged and quite creepy.

I shook my head _no_.

His left brow arched at my nod and he smirked. He began to speak quickly again. "That's fascinating. Here you stand, in a new clients home, hardly sure of where any of the rooms are. Your objective is to properly clean the home, yet I've only _formerly_ introduced you to three of my chambers. For all you know I could have two studies, and you could possibly clean the study I forbid you to even enter, risking your job. You don't know how much I'll be paying you, nor which days I would like you to come." He began to chuckle at what he seemed to perceive a 'joke.' "Well?" He asked me, staring me square in my stupefied eye. "Explain yourself. Are you holding yourself up as some sort of _self-proclaimed_, independent _genius_?" He smirked darkly at me.

I couldn't believe him. He acts as if he'd chop my head off and feed me to pigs if I asked another question, and now he's mocking me for not asking one of many that I hold in the back of my psyche? Basterd. My eyes narrowed on his amused. "I'm sorry, I assumed, by the way you kept glancing down that hallway, you had something to attend."

His smirk faded quickly and the frown returned. Hello Ma'dame Frown. I picture my self curtseying. "You shouldn't _assume_." His eyes moved quickly as he studied me once more. He then stopped and made a quick, yet noticeable, wince like feature change. "You don't have to clean today, come back tomorrow at noon." He turned on his heel and walked down the hallway he had been previously glancing down. Good'ay Ma'dame _Frown_.

My brow rose and I slacked my shoulders. As long as he doesn't fire me, I shouldn't care if he suddenly has changed his mind about me cleaning today. This gives me the day to myself. He's out of sight now, and I feel uncomfortable standing in his kitchen alone. I walk back into the living room, noticing the books now. They're on the couch, piano, and fireplace ledge. There are a couple on the coffee table, and three that look like they've been randomly tossed on the floor, judging by how the pages are wrinkled and bent keeping the book in an upright position. I shake my head and raise my brows before walking into the foyer then out the door, all while wondering why he didn't escort me out of his home, like a normal client.

As I get into my car, I reach for my cell phone. I plan on calling Chi and telling her how my first day went. I'm going to tell her how weird I think this guy is, and how rude he acted towards me. I'll finish by telling her that I was told to leave after the first half hour.

She wasn't surprised when I told her my little escapade.

**- - -**

**I hope you enjoyed. Please review. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**His Beautiful Mind - Chapter Two**

**By: The Butterfly Net**

- - -

It was dark, the middle of the night, when I woke up in a cold sweat. "Did you have a nightmare?" A calm voice asked softly, sure not to wake anyone.

I was still breathing heavy when I nodded and wiped my face with my night shirt. I felt sticky, and the warm sheets made my skin crawl.

"What was it about?" The same sweet voice asked.

I shut my eyes and I took a few deep breaths. "It was the chasing dream again," I explained as I shifted my position so my legs hung over the side of the bed. I stared down at the brown worn carpet below me. The drop to the floor looked longer than just a foot or less. I shut my eyes again and took in a breath. The air felt still, and stung when entering my dry throat.

"What was chasing you this time? Last time you told me it was a dog."

"It was a person."

"Who?"

"I don't want to tell you."

"Why not?"

I decided to keep my eyes shut, and hopped off of my bed. I squeezed my lids together tightly as I prepared to take fifteen steps in a perfectly straight line, enough to get to my door. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six._

"Are you going to tell me who chased you?" The voice asked again, hints of agitation trying to be surpressed through calming tones.

I shuddered and stopped stepping at seven. I felt that frigid chill travel down my spine, all hairs standing at attention, as my eyes begged to be opened. I refused them. Clenching always helped at weak moments such as these. My legs were feeling heavy and my lids still felt as if they were filled with helium, pushing upwards.

"You know I'm great with secrets. I won't tell a soul. Who was chasing you? Tell me." The sweet voice tried to convince. Speaking throaty, I could hear the saliva move around the tongue and perhaps sprinkle the brown carpet.

I hear a thud. A jump. No, a _landing_. I can feel the heavy foot steps. Eight more steps. Only. _Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven._

"Where are you going?" Asked with chilling sweetness.

Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. I'm at the threshold of the door, I feel the wooden molding in my sweaty palms. I open my eyes and take my last step out the door. I restrain the urge to turn and look into the eyes of the voice. Inviting it. I would turn into a pillar of salt. No, worse, it would stare back, sending me into an uncontrolled fit. I begin to walk quickly and calmly down the hall, away from my room, the darkness, the voice, my personal hell, and into the kitchen.

I can hear the foot steps, calm yet pursuing me as if I were prey, I quickly grab the large steak knife from the cutting block for blinded protection, and hoist myself up onto the counter to reach the cabinet, the oak cabinet that holds my release, my shelter, my hope, my _savior_. As I'm about to throw open the cabinet, a cold hand grips my ankle and pulls me back. I can feel the blade of the knife travel down my forearm, and I loose balance and fall to the floor, the knife falling to the floor with me. Sour metal, the lights burning my retina, an ear piercing scream, my senses are filled with extremes. The light is blurred by gray, black, and white dots as I hear begging words coming from that calm voice.

"Wake up sweetie, stay with me-"

- - -

"I don't like that woman with the unnatural colored hair."

I chose to ignore that comment, and leaned back into the large leather chair I was presently sitting in. I didn't mind the new maid. Her timidness bothered me, so I let on that her whole presence served nothing more than an annoyance. I could tell I rattled her, until she questioned me: asking me if there was someone I needed to be conversing with. I propped my feet up on my cluttered desk, then looked around when I heard something fall off of it. My study has become squalor. Maybe I should, or perhaps have that woman, clean and organize it.

"You shouldn't trust her. What makes her any different from the last wench?"

I sat up normally and began to search through my drawers.

"Well?"

"Fuck off," I growled. I instantly regretted it. I shouldn't have spoken back. My hand clasped onto the clear orange bottle stuffed on the bottom of my drawer. I quickly unscrewed the child's lock cap and downed three small, white capsules. I held the capsules more valuable than anything I owned. Perhaps even my life. I would never be able to survive with out them. They are my savior.

**- - -**

As I entered my apartment I shuddered at how unusually cold it was. I locked the door, and flipped on the lights. Throwing my purse and keys onto the kitchen counter, I bit my lower lip. I have nothing planned. I had planned on cleaning that jerks house for a few hours then maybe I'd go see a movie, _alone_. I haven't dated for a while now. Seven months and twelve days to be exact. I sigh as I travel to my refrigerator. I shudder as the cold air within the empty appliance drifting towards me, causing the door to be slammed shut, and me sprinting towards the thermostat. Turning the knob to the number '77' I walk back to the living room, and plop down onto the couch. I groan as I try to prop myself up with the pillows in arms reach. My pillows aren't too comfortable, I make a mental note to purchase new ones next time I'm out. I laid down and shut my eyes. I'm only going to sleep for about an hour.

The phone ringing startled me, and I shot up in a panic. "God damn," I growl as I pull myself away from the warm embrace of my couch. I catch a glance at the clock on my way to the phone, it's now six in the evening. I frown and pick up the phone. I'd been asleep for four hours. "Hello?"

"Hi sweetie!" My mother chirped into the phone cheerfully.

I begin to walk back to the awaiting couch. "Hey mom, how are you doing?"

"I'm good sweetie. Now tell me, how'd your first day go?" She asked with excitement.

"Well it lasted all of ten minutes," I inform.

"Oh no!" She gasps, "You didn't get fired, did you sweetie?"

"No, the guy's just," I pause. Last time I told her that my client was strange, she made me call her when I got there, and when I got back. Probably to make sure I wasn't murdered. Probably worries I'll be given a labodemy and fed part of my removed brain. I should stop watching the Hannibal series... "I think he had company over, so he told me to come back tomorrow." Not a complete lie.

"Oh," her 'oh' sounded slightly disappointed. Did she want me to have a freak? She thinks she's going to miss out on strange, gossipy stories. Well I assure her, she will not. "Well that's good, at least you've had the day off. So then, what have you been doing?"

"Sleeping," I tell her, a laugh in my tone. "I told myself, only an hour, and I wake up four hours later."

"Did you sleep well last night?" She asks me, worry in her voice. She knows I never sleep during the day.

"Yea, I'm fine don't worry about me."

"Okay then. Well I'm going to put dinner on for your father, do you want to come over?" 

I stop. I have nothing better to do. "Sure, sounds good. I'll be over in fifteen."

"Alright sweetie, see you then, bye."

"Bye." I then hang phone back on the receiver.

**- - -**

**I'm sorry for the short length. I'm also sorry for the long wait. Could those last two sentences been considered some sort of literary device? I'm not in the mood to be thinking at this moment. Probably not. Oh well. Thank all three of you for reviewing and the other 215 who didn't. lol. I'm only kidding. There were only 198 of you who didn't review. lol. Another dry joke. Thank you all who read this shitty, shitty try at a story of pure angst, anxiety, tragedy and if you haven't figured out yet, schizophrenia. **

**The Butterfly Net**


	3. Chapter 3

**His Beautiful Mind - Chapter Three**

**By: The Butterfly Net**

**- - -**

I pick up a Styrofoam plate covered with saran wrap, and begin meticulously inspecting the steak held with in. I hate grocery shopping. I should hire some one to do this for me. Deciding against purchasing the crimson meat, I move towards the side of the store where they sell milk, eggs, cheese. I eye the milk's expiration date. I rarely drink milk. I place the gallon in my cart along with the two bottles of wine, loaf of bread, Oreos, and bottles of Diet Coke. I have a few more hours until I'm suppose to be at Madame Frown's. Why do I always get the screw balls? It's gotten to the point as to where I think I'll be destined to scrub the toilet of lunatics until the day I die. God I need a social life. I'm fucking twenty-eight years old, boyfriend less, and living alone in an apartment with a cat. I should get a cat. _Wine. Diet Coke. Bread. Cookies. Chips. Real Food. Tampons. Swiffer wipes. Cat. _

I begin to place a variety of Hostess Pies into my cart. I hate that feeling you get

when someone is watching you. They're probably thinking: look at that pathetic girl put

all of the Hostess Pies in her cart; she's going to get fat off of those. No, I will not be

getting fat because one of these happen to be the only thing I tend to eat all day. One

Hostess Pie, preferably blueberry. I need to learn to cook. Maybe it'd be cheaper if I

made my own Hostess Pies. As I turn around to leave the aisle I learn that there wasn't a

soul in sight.

**- - -**

I stare at the large colonial in front of me. I really am not in the mood to be

cleaning, nor am I in the mood to be berated by that ass hole with troll hair. I ring the

bell. It's one of those God awfully long ass bells. I hate them. He, of course, comes to the

door while the bell has another minute of obnoxious 'ringing.' What happened to the old

fashion ding dong?

Well? Are you going to say something Mr. Frowny face? No? Well then maybe I

should just fucking walk away you. Go back home to my Hostess Pies, they don't judge. I subconsciously smile to myself. "Hi Mr. Ouiji," why am I polite?

He steps aside allowing me to enter. As I step through I realize, in a matter of

twenty four hours, the entire house is a complete mess; a strange mess at that. It looks

like he stood at the top of his steps and threw papers and books off, just to piss me off.

No, I'm being conceded, why would he do that for me?

"I'll walk you through the rest of the rooms you'll be cleaning," he grunted after

this and eyed me accusingly as I continued to stare in awe at the mess created so quickly.

"I'll skip the rooms you ventured into yesterday, unless, that is, you've already forgotten

where they were?" He smirked at what he thought was amusing. Mockery is something that should be done sparcely, and backhandedly. The way he acts I believe has acquired this long ago.

"That's fine." I mutter as I follow him up the stairs. What happened to me being a self proclaimed independent genius? Now I'm a lowly moron? Hmm, figures.

"These two rooms," he gestures to the first two rooms parallel, "they're empty, no need to be cleaned or entered." He then continued to lead me down the crowded, disorganized hallway. Where does he get all of these books? I feel as if I'm in a filthy, cramp, used book store. The walls are replaced by book cases and piles of books, clothes, boxes, and stuff. Piles that look as if they'll avalanche at any given moment. Piles of weird stuff. Yes, stuff, nothing in particular, just random crap that should be at a salvation army or in the trash. I believe I saw a series of clear Tupperware containers filled with children blocks. You know, the colorful wooden ones?

"This is my study," he then begins to close the door of a very, very cluttered room. Possibly the room that would need extra cleaning attention. I have found it! The lost treasure of Atlantis! To think it's been in Madame Frown's chambers, right under our noses, this whole time! "You will not enter this room." He states firmly, making curiosity rise, and I have premonition that it will get the best of me, and I will be entering this forbidden lair. Curiosity killed the cat. Again, I really think I am fit for a cat.

"Okay," I say, only to confirm to him that I am paying some what attention to his asinine attitude. Hardly knows me, yet seems to hold this grudge that I could never be trusted. Shall I suggest anti-depressants? Dark circles under the eyes? Take some Lunesta buddy.

"The double doors lead to the master bedroom, yet another location you will not enter."

Who calls a room in their home a 'location?'

He stops and turns to me. "You are to clean the rest of my home," he keeps his frown. "I send checks in the mail. I do not set an exact payment per hour. You will be paid somewhere between twelve and fifteen an hour, pending on how well you clean, follow my commands, and your attitude." He smirked at the last of his short list. "I'll clue you in: your attitude, at the moment, is low. I don't like how you've been scanning my home, and your short responses, irritate me. If you are going to speak, speak more than a single word. I will dismiss you for such mistakes." I frowned at him. Hello? What do you want me to say? Yes Sir Mr. Ouiji sir. How is your day sir? Why won't you let me clean your study and room sir? Why are you so rude sir? Why do you use so much gel in your hair sir? Shall I continue sir?

"Sorry," again, why aren't I being my normal bitchy self? First impressions are everything of course. Yet, this is actually my second impression, correct? Correct. "I'll be _sure_ to speak more than _only_ _one_ word in _your presence_," I decide on diluted sarcasm.

He quirked an eyebrow at me, then parted his lips as if he were about to speak. But I cut him off. "Well then, I think I better get started. Where do you keep the supplies?"

"Downstairs in the closet I showed you _yesterday_." He smirked at my slip.

Damn, he thinks he has an upperhand now that I forgot exactly where he kept the supplies. "Kay, thanks." Two words. Not one, but two. I turn and head back down stairs.

**- - -**

I've broken one of the _'words of advice_' Chi Chi had given me. I had not just touched, but organized his dusty old books. I've alphabetized them. I love to alphabetize, almost everything in my home is: including my refrigerator. He had a wide variety of books, well the ones I found on his foyer floor and steps. From books on conspiracy theories, to classics like Canterbury Tales, to books written in several languages, to ones I'm not sure how to classify. I guess language. I found a few books that looked like artifacts they were so old. I put those at the end of my alphabetized book case. I smiled with pride at my finished work. Well I've finished the foyer, living room, and kitchen. Now I must travel upstairs, where I believe Mr. Anal resides.

As I reach the top of the steps I hear a strange noise, sounded animalistic. As I started down the hallway he had led me down prior, I casually bent down to organize a pile, when I stopped. Well my heart stopped. It was a very low pitch growl. I turned to look into the eyes of the ravage beast that lusted my blood. The beast's eyes glew a hazy green down the shadowed hallway, and I could hear it gnash it's teeth at me, the same teeth that would presently tear open my throat. I heard it bound after me, cowardice taking sight away from my last moment in this Earthly realm. When it's claws dug into my bear arm, and it's low bark filled my perked ears, I opened my cowardly eyes, to reveal a-

"Cozmo!" He growled this with authority, and the beast complied.

The stout Jack Russell Terrier lolled it's pink tongue happily at his master, then trotted to his side. I quirked my eyebrow at this then looked into the onyx of Ouiji.

"I see you've acquainted yourself with Cozmo," he smirked amusedly, glancing down on the short, fat, now happy, pup. "He's an _intimidating_ little mongrel, _isn't he_?" His mockery didn't go unnoted.

"He just startled me is all, you never mention you had dog, and I didn't see any dog toys."

His face slacked back into it's frown and I watched his cold orbs roll. "You just haven't reached his room yet." I simply nodded and he studied me for a moment. "Have you already finished the first floor?"

"Most of it, I finished the foyer, living room, and kitchen. I haven't gone down that hallway yet." 

He nodded. "The last door that'd be on your right, is the basement, you don't need to clean that."

I nodded, "Kay." Opps, _one_ word.

He stared at me for one more moment and his eyes seemed as if they were trying to find something. Like when you think you recognize someone. He shrugged to himself then him and his dog walked into the room he had titled his study.

I sighed and began to organized an avalanche.

**- - -**

Staring at the black chalk board, my bulbous teacher pointed a sausage finger at the fraction written in white chalk. Her whole ensemble was dusted with chalk. She wore a black top and a pair of black slacks. Black is supposedly a sliming color, says my mothers magazine, yet it fails this poor woman. The humorous part were the chalky handprints on either side of her colossal ass. An ass that vast should never have been abused into a pant that tight. A real retina burner. The child infront of me turned around with an amused grin.

"Hey Vegeta, I heard you," he paused but continued to smile.

I stared back at him with a stoic expression. I knew what was coming next. It always came next. Those next two words always completed that sentence spoken by many. I am ten years old and I am four foot seven. The child before me is likely five foot four, held back a year or three, and has chubby arms lying on my desk, my _space_. His facial features are contorted into a fat smile. His cheeks protrude, and are beginning to break the line of obesity. One of his many bodily resemblance with the teacher that will soon side with him after he trys to speak those next two words. Say it fat fuck. Come one. _Say it_.

"I heard you hear-"

A gasp, a yell, a warm liquid on my knuckles, a cry of pain, and a silent hiss of laughter.

_Good job, Vegeta._

His watery blue eyes stare into my onyx with fear. The veneration in the look he holds insures not another word will be uttered at my expense. One less person will taunt. How many will fall until they quit? I've lost count of the fallen.

The large pudgy hand grips my collar and drags me down the stairs for me to wait in that cramp room with that snaky man that sits behind the squalor mess, called work. He clears his throat and phones my mother. She will sob for my forgiveness. He will show pity, take in consideration my condition, and let me free. Free to do it again, and again: they are only proving they can not stop me.

_You're unstoppable_.

**- - -**

**That's it. I decided to post this before I leave on a boring "vacation." Not like you people'd notice, I rarely update. This is because I never seem to prioritize this hobby. I try, but I type for a few moments, save. Word count. Spell Check. Save. Word Count. Sigh. Turn off the computer. ahaha. Thank you readers and reviewers, I hold each stat dear. Please send me my love: critizism. Especially since I hate that last flashback thing with Vegeta, tell me what you thought. I have a few ideas to add to the plot, so when I return from my "vacation," I plan to hopefully sit and write a complete chapter, rather one to three paragraphs at a time.. ahaha.**


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